Nocturne Summit submerged in limbo

The corners of her lips lifted at his admittance, and her head tilted. He did not yet elaborate, instead saying what he had deigned to do in his hungry state, and Hydra could not help but feel her smile deepen as he suggested sending the herd their way, leaving him still hungry. You are a giver, she says with a grin and a quirk of her brow. She thinks of Alya for a moment, and her flirtatious wiles. Of her night with Bruges. There was a flashing thought that moved in marquee across her mind: might she share such a time with Dirge? 

I have, she rejoins. there are a great many. Enough to share, should we seek to split them up, I would think, she looks thoughtful as they move after the herd, though her own pace is leisurely. Not at all one of a hunter on the prowl. Or we could keep them together— her gaze falls to him, and her bright eyes flash as her nose seeks to meet his cheek, and you could come home with me, and you will never know hunger again. Of any sort, perhaps, she suggests, playful in demeanor. Hydra means it, each word—it had not been said without days, and nights, of consideration. But she did not believe he would take her up on it; why should he, what with his own obligations within the forest? 

But Hydra has always held onto her own hope that he would return to Moonspear, her keep. There was time enough to steal her away, but she had once again learned Titmouse was alive; Dirge was not at risk from the fool, she did not think, smart as he was... but she wanted him near. To know.